


letters to the damned

by netherstqrs



Series: decaying wings au [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adopted Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Letters, Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Sibling Bonding, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), borealtwt. this one is for u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29518182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/netherstqrs/pseuds/netherstqrs
Summary: In a different timeline, a better universe, one where he was never injured, Technoblade would have accompanied his father to the warfront. As it is, he remains cooped up in their manor, surrounded by spruce trees and drifts of snow and mountains. And according to Ranboo, well, he has to find some way to pass the time.So, with the help of a gift, he writes a letter. He doesn’t intend it to be a letter at first, of course, but good things hardly ever end up as what you intended.
Relationships: Ranboo & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: decaying wings au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168472
Comments: 15
Kudos: 172





	letters to the damned

Techno removes his glasses and gently places them on the table beside his armchair. He takes a moment to rub the bridge of his nose, then his forehead and temples, before he closes his eyes and lets out a breath.

The hearth is pleasantly warm. Techno allows himself to relax, sinking deep into thechair. Firelight flickers against the inside of his eyelids, fading in and out as the flames waver in their grate. He listens to the crackling fire, the howling wind outside, and begins counting hisbreaths. He breathes in. He breathes out. _One._ And again, he inhales deeply and sighs out the air. _Two._

There is a noise—footsteps. The door creaks. Techno’s eyes snap open. A tall figure stands in the doorway, clutching something in folded arms. Techno’s brows knit themselves together without his realizing, and his lower lip curls into something akin to a snarl. “Ranboo.”

“I brought- I brought something for you,” Ranboo says, advancing into the room with caution. Techno’s glare stops him in his tracks. He continues, hurriedly, “I thought maybe you would want to do something other than—you know—staring out the window and sitting, so I got you this-here.”

Ranboo darts toward the hearth, places something on the table next to Techno, and then in a flurry of footfalls disappears from the room, gently closing the door behind him. Techno’s gaze lingers on the heavy door for a moment, wondering, before he shifts his attention to whatever it is Ranboo has brought him. He frowns, and leans over in his chair.

It’s… a book.

Techno picks it up, staring at the cover, which is made of smooth brown leather. The spine of the book is engraved with tiny, curling leaves and vines. The back is left plain. On the front are the letters: T. R.

Techno turns the book over in his hands, tracing the patterns on the spine and the front cover, for a long while. Then he opens it. The pages are blank.

Confusion flares up, in tandem with annoyance, before Techno realizes: it’s a journal. A beautifully wrought, custom-made, monogrammed journal, that Ranboo has given him.

\---

For the first hour that Techno has the journal, he just flips through the pages, studying the uniquenesses of each one. For the second, though, he uncorks a bottle of ink that has long lain unused on his desk and begins to write. Letter after letter of elegant, handwritten script emerges from his quill. The writing is difficult. Not the act of forming the letters; rather, the sentences. His words seem to stutter across the page and knock together like the bare limbs of winter trees.

_Ranboo gave me a journal. I guess I gotta write in it. So here we are. If I was still a kid and still being tutored, someone would tell me that writing “gotta” wasn’t “gentlemanly” or something. Obviously I learned well._

_The rules of this language are strange, you know? Everything wanders in Common. The sentences drift back and forth like… like… leaves in the wind. Alright. We’ll go with that._

_Anyway. You know I’ve never been good with words, Phil._

The scratching of the quill on paper stops for a moment as Techno realizes what he’s just written. He blinks. A single teardrop lands on the page.

Techno throws down the pen and rubs furiously at his eyes with his hands, ignoring the twinge of pain from his injured arm. He is not going to cry on the pages. Not that he cares about the journal, or anything. Definitely not. Absolutely not. It’s just a notebook. That’s all. There are a lot of those.

Techno blinks very hard a few times, breathes in and out (one), in and out (two), and keeps breathing and counting until he has convinced himself that he does not, in fact, want to cry.

Then he carefully cleans and dries the quill, stoppers the bottle of ink, and gently closes the journal. When he finally works up the nerve to leave the safety of his armchair, he leaves it lying on the little shelf across the room, next to all of his other favourite books.

\---

It is a week or so of flipping idly through the same books he always reads before Techno decides he can return to the journal. He balances it on his lap, quill in hand, and looks at what he’s written so far.

_You know I’ve never been good with words, Phil._

He suppresses a grimace, as well as a flood of emotion, and once again touches the quill to the rough surface of the paper.

_I’m not sure why I wrote that. You probably won’t ever see this. I just wanted a way to tell you how much is different without you here._

On a whim, a passing idea, a glimmer of inspiration: he scratches those sentences out,making sure no trace of any letter remains.

_You know I’ve never been good with words, Phil. But I thought I would write to you anyway, so you can hear about how Ranboo and I are doing, and all. I hope wartime is treating you well; better than it did me, anyway._  
_So much is different without you here. I think the worst part is that there’s nobody to keep conversation going. Ranboo and I, now that you’re gone, we don’t talk to each other very much. We’re both solitary. I can appreciate that. It does get lonely, though, not that I would ever admit that to anybody besides you._  
_Would you look at that, I’m being self-aware. That doesn’t happen often._  
_I’m curious. What’s the front like? Has it changed since I was there? I hear they’re using magic a lot more regularly now. And what about the dragons? I know that’s not specific, but I don’t want a specific answer._  
_Alright. I’m going to sign off this letter now. Like I said, I hope you’re well._

_Techno_

He pauses writing for a moment, hesitates, then adds:

_(Your son, in case you’ve forgotten, old man)_

Placing the quill on his table, he suddenly realizes that he’s going to have to tear the page out of the journal if he wants to actually send the thing. A long sigh works its way out of his mouth, and he meticulously, slowly, begins the tedious process of removing the page from the journal. He wouldn’t want to break the binding or tear more than one page and ruin such a well-made book. Not that it holds… sentimental value, or anything.

Definitely not.

Absolutely not.

\---

Weeks pass. There is no return letter from Phil. Techno begins, despite himself, to worry.

 _I think_ , he writes in his journal, _logically, that we should have heard back from him by now. Maybe there’s some kind of mundane explanation for it. But I’m_

He pauses. Blinks. Continues.

_But I’m scared. I’m scared for Phil._

\---

More days pass. Techno is tapping the end of his quill against the arm of his chair, embroiled in worry, when a soft knock sounds on the door, and he is jarred from his turmoil. He looks up. “Yes?”

Easing the door open, Ranboo slinks into the room. “There’s a- a letter. For you.”

Techno doesn’t think twice, taking the letter from Ranboo’s outstretched hand and reaching for the letter opener that has been gathering dust on the bookshelf. He slides the flat blade under the wax seal—their signet, a rose in full bloom—and carefully peels it away from the envelope.

_Dear Techno,_

_I do know you’ve never been good with words. Thank you for writing, mate; really. It was getting lonely up here without you and Ranboo to keep me company. And since I won’t be back down there for another few weeks, at least, I suppose letters are the next best thing. We’ll both have to be our solitary selves until then._  
_As for the front, nothing’s changed. Not even the magic. I don’t know where you heard that, but whoever told you probably isn’t the brightest. They call it the Frozen War for a reason, apparently. Who would have guessed?_  
_The dragons, on the other hand… well, they are different. You’ll have to come and see for yourself sometime. It’s hard to explain in a letter._

There’s a shuffling noise from the doorway. Techno looks up, and realizes that Ranboo is still in the room. Taken aback, he clears his throat.  
“I- I had a question,” Ranboo says, a little shakily. “The journal.”

Techno glances over at it. “What about it?”

“Well—did you tear out the page? I couldn’t help but notice- when you wanted me to send your letter, it seemed like the same paper- I didn’t read it, of course, but I spent so long staring at that paper when I was making the book—"

Techno cuts him off. “Hold on a minute here. You made this? By hand?” He points in the direction of the journal.

“Yeah,” says Ranboo. “Was it good enough? Does it work? Is it-“

Techno holds up a hand, and looks back down at the letter to catch the last few lines.

_Make sure you’re taking care of yourself, okay, mate? I worry about you, you know. Don’t coop yourself up in that little study of yours. Maybe try your hand at writing in that journal I hear about. Who knows? You might end up getting good with words._

_Lots of love,_  
_Phil_  
_(Your father, who is not that old, really.)_

Techno raises his head, looking at Ranboo, who is waiting somewhat nervously for an answer to his questions.

As if on cue, the distant call of a dragon echoes through the silence, loud and wild and wonderful. Techno smiles, perhaps for the first time since Phil left their manor for the warfront. If he could, he would say _thank you_ , but he’s never been good with words.

Ranboo understands, and smiles back.

_You’re welcome._

**Author's Note:**

> aaa my first Ever fic posted anywhere. ever. i have Not written any other fics for other fandoms and especially not on wattpad haha
> 
> jokes aside, ty for reading my first ao3 fic <3 i really appreciate it, and would love if you left feedback in any form! 
> 
> follow me on twitter: @netherstqrs


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